Gordon's Story
by Angelina K
Summary: Gordon: His life, his thoughts, his experiences; written down for you to experience too.


There is nothing more alluring than a blank piece of notebook paper, unsoiled by the written word. It pulls you in, begging to be touched by the tip of a pen. So fresh, crisp and white. It holds my attention and the words begin to flow.  
  
My life, my feelings, my experiences, scrawled over the page in familiar handwriting.  
  
My name is Gordon Tracy. This is my story.  
  
*****  
  
The day dawned uncharacteristically bright for the middle of February. My mother used to tell me it was because the sun was waiting for me to come into the world.  
  
It was Valentine's Day, the day where couples profess their love for each other. My mother and father, Lucille and Jefferson, were sitting around the kitchen eating pancakes with my three brothers. My father had made them for my mom to eat in bed, but she'd gotten up to do the same thing for him. The smell of pancakes had awakened Scott, John and Virgil and they'd charged out of their rooms to make sure that dad didn't forget to put chocolate chips in them.  
  
Scott, then eight years old, was the first born to my parents. He was soon followed by my brother John, who was distant and quiet even as a five-year- old. Virgil, at three, had brought his toy plane to the table. Already he seemed to have a love for flying, and especially enjoyed making airplane sounds to accompany his favourite model: a green transport plane that dad had accidentally glued the wings to backwards.  
  
As my father glanced around at his three sons, I'm sure he wasn't thinking about what they would become when they got older. I'm sure when he looked at Scott, he didn't see the future pilot of Thunderbird One, reflected in his eldest son. At the moment, Scott had chocolate spread over his lips and had somehow managed to drip syrup all over the front of his shirt.  
  
I'm sure when he looked at John, who was busy using his fork to carve his circular pancake into a star, he didn't see our future space monitor. At the time, John was already the dreamer. My mother used to be worried because he never said much. As the days wore on, we knew there was nothing wrong with him - that was just John. He would be the voice of International Rescue, the mysterious man with the calming words that was always the first to answer a call for help. His soothing attitude could calm all of us even at the worst of times.  
  
And I'm sure, when my father turned to watch his youngest son, he couldn't imagine him as the level-headed, steel-nerved, thoughtful young man he would eventually become. I bet he could never seen those fingers stuck in his mouth playing melodies on the piano of painting masterpieces on a white canvas.  
  
But then, it would be years until we became what we are today. A lot would happen to shape the people we would be in the years to follow.  
  
My father's head snapped up as he looked at his pregnant wife. Her face contorted in surprise as she rose from the table and half-walked, half- waddled to the bathroom. My dad sat on the edge of his seat, oblivious to Virgil's squawks as Scott borrowed his airplane to do rolls and figure eight's over his empty plate. What was going on? I wasn't due for another two days!  
  
"Jeff!" My mother cried as she hurried back into the room, her hand on her stomach. "Jeff, go call Mrs. Baker next door and get her to come over and watch the boys." She started cleaning my brothers up, washing the remains of pancakes tenderly from their faces and hands.  
  
My father had already been through this three times. My mother's suitcase was already packed and he literally had to pull her away from her sons just to get her to the car. She hated leaving them, even when Mrs. Baker assured her she'd handle everything.  
  
Even when her three sons were about to become four.  
  
It was a long, painful time for my mother. Now, when my father fondly recalls all the things she called him during those hours, I cringe. I didn't know my mother well, but it doesn't make me feel better to know I caused her pain.  
  
Many hours later, at quarter to ten on Valentine's night, my mother had another baby boy. She and my father named him Gordon Cooper Tracy.  
  
The first time I met those three big monsters I had for brothers, I was two days old. My grandmother on my father's side had come to relieve Mrs. Baker the moment she'd heard my mother was in labour. My parents had been given the all-clear to take me home to meet the rest of my family and my grandmother could hardly contain her excitement at having another grandson to fuss over.  
  
My father can relate the events of the first time my brothers saw me almost down to every word they said. Scott, figuring he had the authority to go first as he was the oldest, did just that.  
  
I was sleeping in the carrier that my three brothers before me had been brought home in. My mother warned Scott not to wake me, but Scott shook my tiny hand and did so anyway. My father says he looked down at me with those piercing blue eyes that got him so many admirers in high school as if I was an alien.  
  
"Hi Gordie!" Scott's loud voice, filled with excitement, had caused me to cry. After my mom had calmed me down and told him to keep quiet, he tried again in a whisper.  
  
"Hi Gordie!" He repeated softly. Dad says he was disappointed when I didn't say hello back and wandered off to watch TV in defeat.  
  
John came next and propped a yellow piece of construction paper between my small fingers. There is a picture on my dad's bedside table of me holding it. According to John, it was supposed to be the space shuttle. According to me, it was food. I was one of those mischievous kids, always wondering if something tasted as good as it looked. Mom took it away and gave it back to John, who watched from beside Grandma almost fearfully as she picked up Virgil and leaned over the carrier.  
  
"Orange!" Virgil had cried, pointing at my hair with one slender finger. He'd been learning about colours at preschool that month.  
  
"No, Virgil, it's red," my Grandma had corrected gently. Trying to explain how a baby with orange hair was really referred to as a redhead was not a particularly easy task when Virgil was involved. He was as stubborn then as he is now.  
  
Virgil went off in a huff after arguing his point. A few minutes later he was trying to steal the remote from Scott in the living room and my grandmother went to straighten them out.  
  
My mother wore a look of disappointment that the excitement of a new brother had worn off so quickly. My father tried to cheer her up with his logical words of reassurance. Both had entirely forgotten about the blond boy sitting in the middle of the floor beside my crate, playing with the paper rocket.  
  
Mom leaned down and picked John up, bracing him against her hip. She fondly brushed his light hair out of his eyes and smiled at him. "What do you think of your baby brother, John?"  
  
John studied me in that thoughtful five year-old way. "He has a big head," he stated finally.  
  
John was never like Scott. If you got that kid talking, he would never shut up. John's words were simple and to the point and he seemed to be content just to observe and take part when he felt like it. In twenty years, he'd be a wonderful space monitor.  
  
His remark caused my father to chuckle as he took his son from his wife. "Is that all?"  
  
John shook his head quietly as if thinking about his response. "He's tiny too."  
  
"You were that small when you were born, John," my mother reminded him.  
  
John seemed surprised at this piece of information. "I was?"  
  
"Yes, you were." My father's smile was wide enough to light what would be Thunderbird 5. He was a father. . .again!  
  
"But I'm not now."  
  
"That's right. You're not that tiny any more." My mother leaned over and lifted me out of my crate, holding me tightly in her arms. If there's anything I can remember most about her, it was how firmly she used to hug me. Like she never wanted to let me go.  
  
"I'm big like Scotty," John said proudly, squirming to get out of my father's grasp. He put him down and John dashed off to find his other two brothers.  
  
My mother smiled as my father's arms went around her shoulders. They both looked down at me with identical smiles on their faces.  
  
Reaching down, my father gently held my little hand in his and said words I swear, to this day, must have been locked in my mind. They drove me, inspiring me to do exactly what he told me I would.  
  
"Gordon Tracy, you're going to make us proud."  
  
++++++++++++++++  
  
I know, I know, I should finish one story before starting another. . .I just couldn't help myself. Enjoy it, and review too! More will come soon ;)  
  
Angelina 


End file.
